Wish you were here
by gr8k9
Summary: Ryan thinks back on his life. It's not finished yet, but I need a break. And I have to think of where it goes to next.


Wish You Were Here: Wish you were here : Pink Floyd  
  
so, so you think you can tell  
  
heaven from hell,  
  
blue skys from pain.  
  
can you tell a green field  
  
from a cold steel rail?  
  
a smile from a veil?  
  
do you think you can tell?  
  
and did they get you to trade  
  
your heros for ghosts?  
  
hot ashes for trees?  
  
hot air for a cool breeze?  
  
cold comfort for change?  
  
and did you exchange  
  
a walk on part in the war  
  
for a lead role in a cage?  
  
"Do you like this?" "Yeah, no, I don't really listen to music"  
  
Ryan let his mind wander, no he didn't really listen to music. He seemed to live the lyrics. When he was young, Ryan loved music, it helped him make sense out of life. His life followed song after song, he would remember events in his life by the sound track connected to it. He could name them; first day of school, first friend, first bicycle. Then it was first drink, first girlfriend, the day his father was sent to prison, moving to Chino, AJ, stealing the car with Trey. He would hear a song on the radio, and his mind would take him back to the memories. But, it wasn't really his life, he just was along for the song. A bit part actor paid to move with the music.  
  
He had early memories of sitting with his father on the porch, listening to music. If it had a beat, they listened to it, and talked about it. Ryan used to talk with his dad, not a lot, but when they talked lyrics, they sometimes talked of themselves. Blues was always a favorite, Jazz of course, old rock, new rock, country, punk, electric. His dad listened to them all. He made up stories out the words, played air guitar, air drums. His good memories of his father seemed to always involve music. His dad knew that maybe, just maybe, things would get better, he just had to find the right song. Then his dad decided money would fix everything. And the easiest way to get money was to take it. Johnny Cash came through on that one, Folsom Prison Blues ran through Ryan's head for months. It defined his life, his dad's trial, the move to Chino, his desire to get away. He didn't know where, just away. Someday, he was gone from this life, so gone, so far away.  
  
Music helped Ryan remember the good times such as they were. Music helped the bad times seem not so bad. Someone else had done these things, had all that stuff happen to them too. They lived through it, he could too. He wasn't alone, all he had to do was find the right lyrics to explain his life. Then everything would all make sense.  
  
And along came AJ. AJ used music in a different way. It was a license for pain. Music made AJ mean. Music, drugs, alcohol and AJ were a bad combination. You never knew for sure what would happen, but it was never good. For Ryan, Trey or his mother.  
  
AJ changed how music affected Ryan's world. Pavlov's dogs got excited and salivated when they heard a bell, Ryan became quiet, still, and barely moved when he heard AJ's favorite songs. Like an animal chased by a predator, Ryan learned to keep body movements slow and steady, fast movement reminded AJ he was still there. His head still, he'd move his eyes first to check for safety. It became habit. If he had a choice though, he just wasn't there. Home was only a place to sleep. Sneak in late, leave early. No noise, nothing to turn anyone's attention in his direction. He became an expert at sneaking in and out through the windows. He still had a few meals with just his mother, but those became harder when AJ lost his job. AJ got even meaner, on his latest drug induced trip, he tossed out all Ryan's stuff. His CDs from his dad, the few photos, all gone. His good memories were now kept in songs on the radio, nothing tangible. All that was left of a previous life was the wristcuff from his dad, his bike a few clothes. Things he could carry with him. Not much for sixteen years of existence.  
  
What was habit at home was habit at school. He tried to stay out of the way of the gangs running the school. Some of the time it worked. Not all the time, he still sometimes got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. A few suspensions for missing classes, fights he didn't see coming. His reputation among the students was that once you cornered him, he'd fight for no reason. For as long as he could, once he started he wouldn't stop. He started getting a reputation among the teachers too, as a student who didn't try, not worth wasting their time on. With the help of one of his teachers though, he made it to the SAT test. He still didn't know why he bothered, no time to study, no way to get into college anyway. The test just solidified that his life was going south, his scores didn't mean squat in the real world.  
  
In Fresno he'd known people, kids he'd grown up with. He had friends to run with, to stay with if things became too bad. In Chino, he knew Trey's friends, a few guys from school. As it worked out, not many, not enough. And when he needed them, none of them were there for him. In some ways Sandy Cohen helped him by taking him home, in other ways Sandy made him see that he couldn't count on friends or his old life anymore. His world had changed, his understanding of friendship and favors was shattered.  
  
Ryan knew his life was becoming a song- he hadn't found it yet, maybe it hadn't been written. But it sure seemed like someone else should be living this.  
  
Here I go again: Whitesnake  
  
I don't know where I'm goin  
  
but I sure know where I've been  
  
hanging on the promises in songs of yesterday.  
  
An' I've made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time  
  
but here I go again, here I go again. 


End file.
